


True Colours

by theleavesoflorien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slytherin Louis, Slytherin Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleavesoflorien/pseuds/theleavesoflorien
Summary: Louis had just stood up from the cosy bottle-green sofa he’d been sitting on, almost tripping in his excitement and getting prepared to start shouting some guitar chords at the top of his lungs, when—CRAAAAASH—a succession of quite strange, quite unexpected things happened.In the place of the armour stood a boy, his mouth and eyes visibly wide open in shock even from where Louis was standing. Louis felt his own mouth drop open as he stared at the scene in stupor, the wand in his hand and all thoughts of glorious guitar solos entirely forgotten. Trying to keep his erratic breathing and the frenzied thump of his heart under control, he forced himself to gulp and quickly scanned the dismembered mess at the boy’s feet—that goddamn armour, Louis thought with detached regret—and travelled up, up, up, not missing a single detail as he took in the intruder’s dishevelled and very much caught-in-the-act appearance.Or: a Harry Potter AU in which Zouis friendship abounds, all the boys are precious nerds, and (of course) Louis and Harry are completely whipped for each other at first crash.





	True Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this silly, sappy self-indulging story combining my love of both 1D and Harry Potter! Comments and likes are always welcome, and you can feel free to hmu on [tumblr](http://theleavesoflorien.tumblr.com) any time. ♡

“Ba-dam ta-TA! Wow-wow-wooow!”

Louis should probably feel a bit mortified that he was locked inside the castle while all the students at the school (all but one, apparently) were outside watching the first Quidditch match of the year. He _should_ , yeah — but he honestly didn’t. Not at all. If anything, he was enjoying himself immensely right now, all by himself with only his wand and some cold toast retrieved from this morning’s breakfast to keep him company.

“Puh-tch, drrrrr!”

The beat Louis was drumming on his thighs was getting increasingly frantic, gaining in intensity and speed as he reached the bridge of the song he was performing for himself, and — shit, this was _good_. The wand clutched in his right hand was marking the measure like a metronome, its tip turning a bright silver at such short intervals that it was now blazing furiously like a stroboscope. _Toc-toc-toc-toc-toc-toc_ , hell fucking _yeah_!  

You see, Louis rarely got the chance to perform music of his own making in a ridiculously off-key voice to the makeshift percussion of his legs and hands these days. He’d once made the grave mistake of absently doing some air-drumming to his favourite Rammstein song when he was chilling in a corner of the Slytherin common room with Zayn during their first year, listening (or trying to listen) to his best friend tell him all about some fascinating discovery he’d made while doing research for his Charms dissertation. What a naive fool Louis had been back then. To put the tragic, highly disturbing incident shortly: his air-drumming hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the delighted giggles Louis had heard coming from a group of fifth-year girls sitting close by—“Did you see that? So very _cute_!”—had made him swear to himself on the spot that he’d never get carried away in public again. Like, _ever_ again.  

Right now, though, everyone was no doubt riveted to the Quidditch match outside. Louis could picture it all too clearly in his head, like the gruesome climax of a horror movie: the Hufflepuffs proudly lighting up hundreds of Badger pins in one movement (yellow-black, yellow-black, yellow-black), and the Slytherins groaning their throats sore and not actually seeing the game unfold because they were too busy hiding their faces in their hands and wishing someone would have the mercy to bury them alive.

Well, well. The _point_ was that Louis was utterly, blissfully alone in the Slytherin common room for the very first time since… forever, probably. He wasn’t technically in public if no one saw him, now was he? Nothing was going to prevent him from thoroughly enjoying himself this time — enjoying himself _very loudly_ , even.

“Now-now-NAGH!”

Louis had just stood up from the cosy bottle-green sofa he’d been sitting on, almost tripping in his excitement and getting prepared to start shouting some guitar chords at the top of his lungs, when— _CRAAAAASH_ —a succession of quite strange, quite unexpected things happened.

One: A deafening racket resounded a few meters away. As he covered his ears with a wince, Louis thought stupidly that students must’ve heard the vicious noise all the way to the Quidditch pitch.

Two: The infamous, sinister-looking armour (which was usually standing ominously in a corner and did a wonderful job creeping out the new Slytherin students, to Louis’ huge amusement) was now sprawled on the floor, its helmet rolling away like it’d been decapitated.

Three: In the place of the armour stood a boy, his mouth and eyes visibly wide open in shock.

Louis felt his own mouth drop open as he stared at the scene in stupor, the wand in his hand and all thoughts of glorious guitar solos entirely forgotten. Trying to keep his erratic breathing and the frenzied thumping of his heart under control, he gulped drily and scanned the dismembered mess at the boy’s feet—that goddamn armour, Louis thought with detached regret—and travelled up, up, up, not missing a single detail as he took in the intruder’s dishevelled and very much caught-in-the-act appearance.

An alarming number of things fought their way to Louis’ brain right then, like so many Waffles being thrown at him simultaneously. The only coherent thought that managed to reach its target through the haze in Louis’ head screamed in a shrill, absolutely-no-chill kind of voice: _Even from here, I can_ see _his eyes are exactly the same colour as the green on his rob—_  

“Whoops!” the boy exclaimed with a loud cough, making Louis’ train of thought derail unceremoniously. Most people would at least _try_ to sound genuinely sorry when expressing regret at almost giving a poor seventeen-year-old bloke a fucking heart attack — but Louis was pretty sure that shrugging and giving a lopsided (and _dimply_ ) smirk at the same time cancelled out the apology. Just saying.

Not that Louis cared that much, though. He was currently a bit more preoccupied by the fact that he could tell (just from hearing one single inoffensive syllable) that the boy’s voice was low and gravelly and, like, pretty fucking amazing. Maybe if he—

“What the _fuck_ , mate?” Louis squealed.

Well, shit. Now was decidedly _not_ a good time for his dumb brain to start making self-sabotaging plans.

A few seconds passed in charged silence, Louis desperately trying to drown out the wave of panic engulfing his stomach as he regretted absolutely _all_ his life choices. But then a weird wheezing sound broke the quiet in the room, and Louis realised that the boy was— he was laughing, goddammit. The dimple on his left cheek was impossibly deep, it turned out: so outrageously, beautifully deep that Louis wondered with mild disbelief why dimples hadn’t been named one of the Wonders of the World already.

“Um.” (How the fuck could the human voice _sound_ like that, honestly?) “I thought there’d be no one in here.”

Louis marvelled for a second at how matter-of-factly the boy stated this, like his explanation made perfect sense and answered all the interrogation marks hovering over the whole situation. Astonishing, really.

“Well, so did I,” Louis retorted a bit breathily. He was relieved to note that his voice had gone back to a more normal, less mice-like register, but he couldn’t help sticking his tongue to the inside of his cheek nervously as he surveyed the boy — the boy, who’d started worrying his plump upper lip while maintaining eye contact, looking like he’d never seen anything quite as amusing as a flustered and confused Louis Tomlinson.

“I could hear that, yeah! With all the singing you were doing, I mean.” Again, the lad’s tone was curiously casual and cheerful. Listening to him, you’d almost believe he hadn’t just been the instigator of possibly one of the most awkward and painfully loud moments to have ever taken place in the Slytherin common room. And yet, Louis could hear an underlying warmth colouring the boy’s voice, like a fleeting touch on the cheek, and he couldn’t help but wonder — was he _teasing_ Louis? Because if he was—

“You have a beautiful voice.” A wink. A _wink_ , my god. “As far as hard rock goes, that is.”

Louis just gaped some more at the boy, probably looking at this point like he’d turned into one of the open-mouthed fish that sometimes came to stare at Slytherin students through the glass windows giving to the lake. He was suddenly irrationally terrified his eyes would pop out of their sockets.

“Um,” Louis started weakly after a few seconds. “Do I, though? I wasn’t exactly trying to impress anyone, so… I promise I usually don’t sound that bad.” There were angry warning lights blazing _ABORT MISSION_ in Louis’ head, but words kept tumbling out of his mouth and edging him closer and closer to a complete trainwreck. “Hard rock isn’t my best musical style, y’know, but I thought I’d try writing a song anyway just to see how it goes. To dip my toe into some new stuff, if you see what I mean. ‘M usually more of a ‘chill vibe’ kinda guy when it comes to music, though.”

The boy waited patiently for Louis to finish off what would no doubt go down as the Most Embarrassing Rambling in History, his eyes shining noticeably behind his thick black glasses. He actually looked mildly interested, which— weird. Super fucking weird.  

“You did impress me, though... _mate_.” The boy pronounced the last word with stiff hesitation and a perplexed, concentrated frown, as though he was tasting a foreign term on his tongue and trying to decide whether or not he liked the taste of it. Louis got the distinct (and puzzling) impression that the boy might’ve never used the word _mate_ before just now, right after Louis had said it to him — but he had no time to ponder over that fascinating thought before the realisation that he had _impressed_ the lad (with his very worst out-of-tune voice, mind you) hit him with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

“Um, call me Louis,” he mumbled sweetly. Shit, where had that come from? The boy didn’t seem to mind, though, if his ever-deepening dimple was anything to go by. Louis thought that damn dimple might just be the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.  

“Hi Harry, I’m Louis! Uh— I mean, _I_ ’m Harry. That’s me.”  

Louis beamed at the boy— _Harry_ —with so much energy that he felt the corners of his eyes crinkle.  

“Hi Louis, I’m Harry!” he retorted playfully with a little wink of his own, feeling very much like a shy idiot but not caring in the slightest.  

The thing was: Louis, as any self-respecting Slytherin, usually didn’t enjoy feeling stupid. Like, at all. He always went into destroyer mode whenever Zayn so much as questioned his ability to perform an advanced spell or brew a complicated potion. But Louis _had_ to admit to himself that acting like a foolish dork suddenly became a very attractive, very inevitable prospect when it involved a certain person whose name started by H and ended by Y.

“Seriously, though. What are you doing here, Harry?”

Because Louis was decidedly _not_ dumb, he’d figured out that, despite the green and silver colours adorning his garments, Harry was most definitely not a Slytherin. Louis could just tell, he did.

“What d’you mean?”

As a matter of fact, now that he racked his head for memories of angelic dimples and large glasses framing the most gorgeous eyes known to mankind, Louis was very much, absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he’d never even _seen_ Harry on campus in his seven years at Hogwarts. He would’ve remembered it more clearly than his own name if he had, no doubt about that. Which begged the question—

“What is a boy from another House—or should I say from another _school_ altogether—doing lurking in the Slytherin common room while everyone else is out watching a Quidditch game?” Louis clarified, making sure to smirk knowingly at Harry and hold his gaze while carrying out his ruthless interrogation.

He got the reaction he was hoping for (and even _better_ , god) when Harry lowered his gaze meekly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in an unconscious gesture. _Touché_ , darling.

But then Harry looked up again, and a new expression close to mischief (or perhaps defiance) was carved onto every feature of his face, making the green in his eyes dance prettily.

“Well, if you’re gonna accuse _me_ … May I point out that _you_ ’re also here right now, Louis?” Harry sounded positively gleeful, like he’d just come up with the most compelling comeback the world had ever known. “You look like the kind of guy who’d be into Quidditch, so, like… Who’s got some explaining to do, huh?”

Ah, yes. Not only was Harry clearly trying to deflect Louis’ attention away from his own crimes which had been mercilessly exposed: to make matters worse, he even permitted himself to make assumptions about Louis. Absolutely unacceptable, that was.

(If Harry’s eyebrow arched in an obvious challenge made Louis want to lie down and surrender embarrassingly easily, no one needed to know, alright?)

“For your information, love, I decided not to join in the fun today ‘cause I know for a fact that Slytherin isn’t gonna win this game. I’ve been to most of the team’s trainings this year, and let me tell you: we ain’t gonna make it the way we’ve been playing so far, even if we’re up against Hufflepuff who’re the worst team most of the time. So basically, I just didn’t feel like freezing my arse off for hours only to be rewarded with a fucking defeat. Y’know?”

Louis was aware he probably sounded like a proper Slytherin asshole right now (which he of course _wasn’t_ ), but he figured he might as well be completely honest with Harry if he wanted to get complete honesty back. Louis decided not to push the Slytherin-ness too far and confront Harry about his (incidentally correct) assumption that Louis liked Quidditch, though. He was just nice like that.

“Hmmm,” Harry eventually hummed, assessing Louis up and down with the ghost of a smirk lighting up his slightly solemn expression. He’d gone back to nibbling at his bottom lip, and Louis had to refrain from mirroring the gesture as he stared at the very full, very pink lips for too long. “So, you ehm— you love Quidditch, but you made the conscious decision to miss the first game of the year and to not support your _own_ team out of... pettiness and competitiveness? Is that it?”

Harry may or be not have hit the jackpot, but Louis was certainly not going to admit _that_. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.  

“Hey, shut up!” he riposted indignantly, his voice almost reaching the same cringy squeakiness levels as earlier. God, was it really _so_ hard to sound normal around Harry?

“Nuh-uh. Certainly not.” Harry’s smirk had grown into a full-blown smile again, and the dimple (the one and only) had the nerve to make a sudden, rudely breathtaking comeback. “Admit that I’m right, Lou! C’mon, just do it!”

Louis was getting ridiculously worked up, what with Harry calling him _Lou_ and looking the way he did... And so Louis wasn’t accountable for his actions when he found himself walking towards Harry before he could think better of it, a warning finger held up in front of him as he got closer and closer.

And Harry— Harry was still grinning at him like an idiot, seeming entirely pleased with himself. Man, he was lucky he was an _endearing_ idiot — otherwise Louis would have to punish him for being so cheeky and rude. In fact, Louis might just have to punish him anyway. And… wow, that thought was, like, the fucking worst. _So_ not arousing or anything. It left Louis completely indifferent, yeah.

All thoughts of punishment (which caused Louis _no_ excitement whatsoever, nope) were violently punched out of him, however, when Louis stopped half a meter away from Harry and was hit by the glory of his beauty in HD. Ouch. A slap on the face would’ve hurt less, honestly.

Up close like this, Louis realised with a jolt to his heart that _green_ was in fact a pathetically inappropriate way of describing the glimmering ocean, the silvery ivy, the soft moss coming alive behind Harry’s glasses. There was a stray lock curling over them, and Louis had to resist the urge to brush it away with his finger — to reach out and touch the mesmerising crinkles of laughter at the corners of Harry’s eyes.

Then Louis let his gaze wander over the rest of Harry’s beaming face, photographing all the details of it in his mind for safekeeping — until he came to a hint of light hair still too soft and short to shave, the amazingly deep dimple begging to be caressed with trembling fingertips… And shit, Louis was so, _so_ fucked.      

When he finally managed to tear his eyes away from Harry’s slightly glossy lips (they had a peachy glow to them and were wet and glistening, goddammit), Louis tried forming words normally like the champ he was, but it all came out in a strangled whisper. Oh, what a surprise.

“Nuh-uh, Hazza. Over my dead body.”      

Louis wasn’t even sure this was a relevant follow-up to what they’d been saying — but could he be blamed, really, for losing his train of thought under such extenuating circumstances? He’d also apparently just come up with a new nickname for Harry, because that’s what usually happens when you’ve known someone for a good fifteen minutes, isn’t it?

Harry honest-to-god snorted at that, beautifully unself-conscious and carefree, his entire body leaning into Louis’ personal space and shaking in silent laughter. Louis felt the hair at the nape of his neck perk up in interest, alarmed (but not surprised) to discover that he wouldn’t mind Harry snoring in his ear more often.

“Well, Louis,” Harry concluded with a resigned snigger, “seems like we’re both too stubborn to give in.”

What a diplomatic chap. Louis was impressed, but he still needed to maintain the sassy facade.

“‘M not sure we can talk about _stubborn_ if one person is clearly right and the other is clearly wrong, but whatever.” Harry was still chuckling close enough for Louis to feel vibrations against his robes, and this gave Louis the courage to add: “By the way… I haven’t forgotten about my question from earlier, even though you obviously tried to sneak your way out of it.”

Harry’s laughter immediately died down at that, and Louis was now at a distance to be able to see with perfect clarity a lovely blush spread over Harry’s cheeks, as though he’d applied shimmering powder to them in the span of a second.

“So, Harry. What _are_ you doing here?” Louis accompanied his question with a cocked eyebrow and a playful smile, just to make sure his words didn’t come across as more accusatory than necessary. Wouldn’t want to go too hard on such a tiny, adorable human being, after all. (Yeah, Harry was taller than Louis by a few centimeters, but so what?)    

“Ehm…” Harry started shuffling his feet, his cheeks still looking as though they’d been powdered with a rosy blush, and Louis braced himself for another round of vague beating around the bush. “Well, er, I just finished my last year at Grouseo. But you see, it’s only six years there — not seven. So I thought I’d do one more year after that, and I applied to Hogwarts and got accepted. Which… led me here, talking with you in the Slytherin dungeons and stuff. And, well — I’m pretty happy about how it all turned out, actually.”

Harry looked up at Louis through thick eyelashes, the corners of his lips stretching into a half-cocky, half-timid smirk. Shit. Fuck. Louis suddenly found it absurdly hard to form coherent thoughts like a proper human being.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence during which Louis tried to process all this (whatever the fuck _this_ was) — but it wasn’t that easy, what with his brain screaming bloody murder and all that. After a while of Harry staring at him expectantly, though, the analytical part of Louis’ mind finally managed to pull through. _Finally_ , my god. 

“Grouseo... That’s in Australia, right? Famous for being the best wizarding school in the world for Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, if I remember right?” Louis started a bit hesitantly. Harry nodded sheepishly. “Shit, man, I heard their process of selection is batshit crazy! Apparently they only take, like, ten percent of the amount of people who apply from all around the globe, and the students who go there get to work with magical creatures that can’t be found anywhere else in the world. Is that true?”

Fuck, it all made sense! Harry must be one of those exceptionally promising young wizards who wanted to take an unnecessary seventh year for the hell of it and were actually _allowed_ to, just because they had the brains and—god forbid—the will and energy for it. Louis found the idea quite frankly mortifying, but gosh, it did things to him to realise just how fucking brainy Harry must be.   

“Yep, that’s the one,” Harry eventually mumbled to his feet after a long moment of silence. Louis could swear even the round tips of his ears were burning a bright red against the whiskey brown of his tangled curls. My my, was this boy a delight!

Louis could picture Harry clear as day, scribbling notes frantically on a piece of parchment with his brows furrowed in concentration, oblivious to his glasses sliding down his nose and the stray curl bouncing against his forehead with every movement. God, Louis needed help.

He knew he should probably take mercy on the poor lad and not push it — but to be perfectly honest, he was enjoying _far_ too much turning Harry into a shy mess. Not to mention that this unexpected turn of events had given Louis all his bruised confidence back (and some) and even made him feel positively reckless and… naughty. Yeah, fucking _naughty_.

A mischievous smirk twisting his lips, he waited patiently for Harry to look up into his eyes again before he stated cheerfully:

“You’re English, but your parents sent you to Australia to study ‘cause you’re a genius. Ain’t that right, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, his eyes bulging so exaggeratedly that they would’ve popped out of their sockets had he been a character in a cartoon — but Louis beat him to it.

“I can tell you’re English ‘cause of your accent, love,” he provided helpfully. “That doesn’t lie. Now let me see... You’ve probably already learnt stuff that’s much more advanced than what we do at Hogwarts, but you just _needed_ to take that extra year, didn’t you, being a smart bean and all that.”

For a while, Harry still didn’t say a word, merely blinking uselessly at Louis in a way strikingly similar to how Louis’ snowy owl Harold did whenever his owner’s instructions confused him.

And then, it was like a ray of sunlight broke through the dark depths of the lake outside the Slytherin common room and touched Harry’s face, painting an array of warm colours—sweetness, bashfulness, delightedness—on it. Louis took one look at the transformation and forgot all about his naughty thoughts, feeling an immediate, irrepressible need to drop to his knees.

Ahem. Maybe later. ( _Definitely later_.) For now, Louis had to find out more about this fairy-like creature going under the disguise of a boy. That’s it: he had to change tactics.

“Alright, alright,” Louis chimed in, throwing Harry a smile he hoped didn’t look too I-so-want-to-do-things-to-you-right-now. “Let’s drop this, then. How about... how you’re in this common room even though you’re clearly not a Slytherin, hm? Can you tell me more about _that_?”

Louis was hoping for a few choice reactions here (including Harry sucking in an impressed breath and staring Louis down appreciatively, for example). But he absolutely wasn't prepared for—  

“ _Excuse_ me?” Harry was gaping at Louis with his mouth wide open in an offended expression, eyebrows so high they disappeared under his messy bangs. “What makes you think I couldn’t be in Slytherin, Lou, huh? Can’t believe you’d _judge_ me like this, wow… ‘S really not my idea of a good time, y’know.”

Harry made an aborted movement as though to leave, an overdramatic (and oh so dignified) “pffffff” noise blurting out of his mouth, and Louis quickly grabbed Harry’s elbow under his robes before his brain had time to list for him all the reasons why that might be a horrible idea.

“Hey, hey. You know I was joking, right?” Louis asked with a kind smile, searching Harry’s face for confirmation that Louis hadn’t fucked up too monumentally. “I mean... I stand by what I said, but I didn’t mean it to sound like I was attacking you or something. Okay?”

Louis’ fingers instinctively clenched a bit around Harry’s elbow, and he felt his insides buzz happily when Harry made no movement to draw it back and just stared at him bright, bright eyes.

“How d’you know I’m not a Slytherin?” Harry eventually asked, his voice curious and open and so unbelievably deep Louis could’ve sworn he felt it rumble in his belly. He looked earnest, almost _vulnerable_ , and Louis understood right then that he could never lie to this boy. The truth would have to do, regardless of how corny it might sound.

“Well—” Louis pondered his words carefully, licking his lips and watching as Harry followed the movement with a droopy gaze. _Make this count, you fucker._ “Us Slytherins are real amazing most of the time, super kind and clever and strong and all that. But there’s often some sort of… edge to us, too. Like we’ve been through stuff, y’know? Doesn’t necessarily make us bad, but it does make us a bit guarded. A bit hard around the edges.”

Harry looked like he was hanging on his every word, all parted lips and watery, unblinking eyes. It was like his body had forgotten how to breathe. Louis suddenly realised that they were now standing even closer to each other than they had been before — so near that Louis’ elbow had to bend to accommodate the lack of distance between their chests. How had that happened, Jesus fuck?

“And, yeah. I guess I just don’t see any of that hard edge in you, Harry. ‘S probably gonna sound stupid since we literally met just a few minutes ago, but my guess would have to be Hufflepuff.”

“Why?”

It was a testament to the far-gone state Louis was in that he didn’t even pause, didn’t even hesitate, before uttering the cheesiest fucking sentence he’d said in his entire life.

“‘Cause it’s the house of warmth, joy, and... love.”

Was it physically possible to hear someone’s breath catch in their throat from a few centimeters’ distance? Because Louis was pretty sure he had, and the thought made him giddy with relief and—well—warmth and joy and maybe a tiny bit of love, yeah. Even manly seventeen-year-olds like him were allowed a bit of embarrassing gushing, alright?    

To be fair, Harry didn’t look like he was faring any better. Judging by his cheeks of a deep, angry pink and his brow coated in a fine sheet of sweat, you’d think he was severely overheating in the middle of the Slytherin dungeons, which just so happened to be infamous for being cold at all times of the year. Very strange.

When Harry did the unthinkable and took a step back to delicately remove his elbow from Louis’ boneless grip, Louis went through the seven (seven _million_ , more like) stages of grief in the flash of a second. The impending trainwreck of his thoughts was quickly interrupted, though, as Harry started shuffling around in his robes to retrieve something, and eventually took out — his wand.

It was gorgeous and very… Harry. Eye-catching, vaguely quirky, with a hint of lavishness and playful daring. There was something beautifully unusual about its slightly bent shape, as well as the extravagant patterns and the deep, vibrant shade of its wood.

To Louis’ astonishment, Harry held up the wand to him with a gentle smile, his eyes burning with a shimmering green fire and his dimples alive and well at the corners of his mouth.

“Go on, Louis. Check for yourself.”

Harry didn’t need to say any more for Louis to know what he meant. Louis only paused half a second—after all, wizards _very_ rarely let other wizards use their wands—before gripping the soft, pleasantly supple wood, stepping back some more and pointing the wand at Harry.

“Aparecium,” Louis murmured.

The spell instantly worked its magic, dissipating all traces of emerald green on Harry’s school uniform to disclose the colour underneath.

Yellow. Hufflepuff yellow. Conspicuous and beautiful and shining like copper under the pale light bathing the room.

As the transformation occurred, Harry’s face metamorphosed as well to take on a splendid expression of delight. He was beaming so shamelessly that Louis could swear there was a miniature sun hidden in there, casting its light outwards for all the world to see. It was like showing his true colours was all Harry had ever wanted, and… gosh, Louis had never seen anything quite this mesmerising in his life.

“So… there it is,” Harry eventually announced with a blinding smile. Damn it all, those dimples would be the death of Louis. “You were right.”         

“‘Course I was! Didn’t doubt myself for one second, lad.” That was actually a gross lie, but it made Harry nod in mock understanding and stick his tongue out at him, so Louis felt no regret whatsoever.

“Here, your wand.”

Louis couldn’t help inspect the object briefly before handing it over to Harry, and— ah, interesting! The wand shone in warm tones of honey and gold shifting like fish scales under the light. Its handle was shaped in intricate, delicate carvings which formed a shape curiously similar to a heart in the place where Harry’s pulse point would be pressed against the wood when holding the wand. Absolutely lovely, just like its owner.

Louis was so caught up in his appreciative assessment that he forgot to tone down the awe in his voice when asking in a breathless whisper: “Pear wood with a core of unicorn hair?” Man, he sounded like Zayn whenever he raved on and on to anyone who would listen (usually Louis) about Rilke, Nabokov and Shelley. Harry didn’t seem to notice, though; nor did he seemed perturbed at all when he reached for his wand and gripped Louis’ small fingers in the process.

“What?” Harry croaked after a moment, his eyes wide and trained on Louis again. Bingo. “Yeah, it is… How d’you know?”

Harry sounded utterly confused, like he’d just been told Argus Filch had become Headmaster of Hogwarts overnight. Louis would almost sympathise — but really, he was too busy basking in the feeling of euphoric satisfaction at the realisation that he’d maybe, potentially, hopefully managed to impress Harry a _tiny_ bit. Fucking finally, years of nerding over wandlore started paying off! Ha!

“Well, my dear Harr—”

“Have you been _spying_ on me, Louis?” Now Harry had the painfully shocked expression of someone who’d just had the revelation of the year and didn’t know how to deal with it. Louis had to tee-hee at how indignant he looked, his eyes suddenly sharp and piercing like green Lightsabers.

Okay, okay. Louis was going to show mercy and put the poor boy out of his misery.

“Nah, I swear!” he assured easily. Harry’s hand was still resting on his, warm and heavy and strangely soft. _Gosh_. “I just happen to be a total nutcase when it comes to wandlore, if you can believe it. I love it.” The casual contact was starting to get sweaty and—quite frankly— _very_ overwhelming. “To be honest, I just went with unicorn hair on a hunch ‘cause it seemed to fit. Now, pear wood, let me think…” _Why_ had Harry not removed his hand yet? “Resilient, isn’t it? For the generous and… warm-hearted, if I remember correctly?”

Louis was shamelessly showing off, and he didn’t exactly feel bad about it — especially not when Harry bit his lower lip and looked down to stare pensively at Louis’ mouth. Was he even remotely aware of just how delicious he looked right now?

“Tell me more.” There it was again: that fucking voice deeper than the bottom of the ocean.

“Well… It’s clearly a very supple wand, which indicates that you must be a flexible and open guy. Just by the looks of it, I’d say I find it eccentric and sort of elegant, but in an understated way. Very beautiful, is what it is. I’m kind of surprised I was able to use it, though, ‘cause I’m pretty sure wands made out of pear wood are usually loyal to their owners only.”

All of a sudden, Harry was fucking _everywhere_ around Louis. He was gazing at him intensely through long, long, long eyelashes, as though he’d forgotten how to blink; and he’d somehow managed to scoot closer again while Louis had been firing away his nerdy observations at him.

They’d now gone so completely beyond any concept of personal space that Louis caught the faint trace of a fresh and flowery scent hovering over him, making a ball form in his throat. And Harry’s hand. Was. Still. On. His.

“Well, Louis. Maybe my wand trusts you already.”

Louis was pretty sure no words had ever punched him in the guts this effectively before. He felt shooting stars—exhilarating and painful and oh so fucking _good_ —burst everywhere inside him: his head, his chest (especially around the heart area, no kidding), and… well, lower. Shit. _That_ was gonna have to calm down, and quick. Wizard robes may be large enough to conceal a lot of things, but even they had their goddamn limits.

“I bet it does.”

Louis was barely aware of how raspy and breathless his own voice sounded. He was happily drowning in the bottomless depths of Harry’s eyes, perfectly content that he had no boat to save him, and his hand—the one still tucked between Harry’s wand and fingers and living its best life—gave a little involuntary twitch. At that, delighted crinkles formed at the corners of Harry’s eyes in some kind of silent acknowledgement. And suddenly— suddenly, Harry’s hand started rubbing gently over the curve of Louis’ index finger, like it was the most natural thing to do. Like their hands had been waiting forever to get acquainted with each other.

Louis just gaped stupidly at Harry, his eyes darting between Harry’s thumb applying soft pressure against his skin and the sweet, oh so sweet upwards tug of his rosy lips. It occurred to Louis that Harry's mouth would probably feel sticky and humid against his own, and that thought alone was enough to nearly make him pass out cold. If he dragged his tongue across those lips carefully, he might even be able to taste a hint of peach, or maybe apricot…

“Harry, I—”

“Louis! LOUEHHHHH!”

What the ever-living _fuck_? Louis would be damned if this was—

Yep, it was Zayn who’d just rounded the corner and fucking _invaded_ the common room, walking in when he had no business to. Walking in and ruining it all. Walking in and single-handedly shattering all of Louis’ dreams.

(Yes, Louis knew he was being a dramatic brat — but _seriously_!?)

“Hey, Lou, are you th—”

Zayn stopped dead in his tracks, the large sunny smile on his face deflating like an old balloon the moment he took in the scene before him. Louis wasn’t sure how the whole thing looked like to his innocent eyes, but he could imagine it involved a flustered, probably red-in-the-face Harry, as well as a very murderous-looking Louis. Hopefully it did _not_ involve something awkwardly protruding from under Louis’ wizard robes, however.

“Oh.”

Zayn had always prided himself in his almost superhuman ability to find something clever to say in literally any situation ever. Clearly, though, catching his best friend in the act of nearly kissing a cute stranger was not on the extensive list of things Zayn knew how to process like a pro. Being Louis’ number one (and only) confidant, he’d of course known for quite a while about Louis’ interest in big hands, coarse stubble, well-defined muscles and all that jazz, but Louis had never actually done anything with a boy before, so… Poor, poor Zayn — he was probably cursing himself right now and wishing he hadn’t barged in. How tragic.

After a while of terribly uncomfortable collective staring, Harry cleared his throat loudly, making Louis’ bitter (and, yeah, more than a little childish) train of thought pause for a second. Ah, yes. Introductions.

“Harry, um. This is Zayn. Zayn, this is… well, Harry.”

Louis made a movement to gesture vaguely between the two boys, only to realise that his hand was still wrapped tightly inside Harry’s. Oh. Louis turned to Harry, as though to silently ask for some sort of permission, and what he saw there made the agitation rumbling inside his stomach settle down a little. Harry was flashing him a full-on smile of the tenderest, loveliest kind: his eyes, crow’s-feet, lips and dimples—hands down the fucking best team in the whole world—were all beaming at Louis with warmth.

Shit, yeah. Okay. Louis had been given the green light.

He smiled back at Harry and shifted his hand a tiny bit, just to say _I’m keeping it there, love_ ; and something kind of snapped in his head when Harry’s fingers resumed the horribly, magnificently intimate stroking thing they’d started earlier. God-fucking-dammit.

Another cough resounded in the room, and Louis’ head snapped up again to realise Zayn was _still_ there, staring at the two joined hands connected over Harry’s wand. Honestly — Louis loved the lad more than he loved his own Gibson guitar, but he couldn’t comprehend for the _life_ of him why Zayn seemed hellbent on destroying everything for Louis right now.

“Ehm. So… What’s a Hufflepuff doing in the Slytherin common room?” Well, at least Zayn was asking the right questions. Fucking wonderful.

“Ah! Good question, Zén.” (Harry tried his best, he really did. Louis beamed proudly at him.) “Lou actually asked me the same, and somehow I never got around to answering. Too much stuff to talk about, y’know! But, ehm— I just got in here by using the password I heard Slytherin seven-years give some first-years a few days ago.”

Louis turned away from Harry for a second to make eye contact with Zayn. They both raised their eyebrows comically high at each other.

“You… managed to get in?” Zayn asked slowly, as though trying to coax a sensible response out of a child who’s been babbling nonsense.

“‘Cause, like… We were told when we got into this House that it only ever opens to Slytherins, no matter who gives the password,” Louis explained. “The entrance to the common room is supposed to sense who we are ‘n all that.”

Now it was Harry who looked at them like they were talking rubbish, his eyebrows furrowed and a small amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well, boys, I can confirm I very much managed to get in, believe it or not. No spell, nothing. Just… gave the password.”

The worst thing was, Louis would bet literally anything (even his precious guitar) that Harry was telling the truth. He looked positively proud of himself right now, all cheeky dimples and challenging eyebrows and sex— ahem. Anyway, did that boy even know the definition of lying at all? Seemed unlikely, if you asked Louis.

“I mean. I believe you, man,” Zayn finally offered with a shrug. He was smiling kindly at Harry with a little bit of a stupid expression on his face, evidently starstruck, and— yeah, Louis could definitely relate to that. Louis was also inexplicably relieved when Harry preened under the admission but, instead of batting his eyelashes at Zayn, leaned forward into Louis’ chest until their arms and hands were pressed together between their bellies.

Just for the sake of it (definitely _not_ because he felt a compulsive need to assert his dominance or anything like that), Louis whispered a cheerful “Me too, Hazza!” in Harry’s ear, causing the taller boy to giggle and squeeze his fingers tighter around Louis’. God, their hands were truly made for holding each other tenderly over a hard wand… And Louis’ thoughts were digressing _again_. It certainly wouldn’t fucking do to get too excited in front of his best friend, now would it? Jesus _Christ_.

“Now d’you wanna tell us _why_ you actually came in here, Harry?” Louis squeaked. He was desperately trying to calm himself down, but of course it was a lost fucking cause. “I’d still love to know, and I’m sure Zayn would, too.”

At that, Louis and Harry both turned to Zayn, whose ears got suspiciously red when he was caught staring at them with a slightly gaping mouth, looking like all coherent thoughts had been syphoned out of his brain.

Well, as long as his friend wasn’t getting ideas— _any_ kind of ideas—about Harry, Louis didn’t mind making Zayn a little hot and bothered. In fact, karma’s a bitch, and Zayn _did_ deserve some kind of cosmic punishment for interrupting Harry and Louis at the worst possible moment, didn’t he?

“Yeah. Yeah. I’d like that.” Yep, Zayn was definitely hot and bothered. Haha! Louis had to stifle a smirk against Harry’s hair.

Speaking of which... Harry (bless his precious soul) seemed completely oblivious to the tension in the room, smiling widely and bouncing on his feet with the look of someone who’s about to tell the story of the century.

Louis was getting prepared for a probably long, probably slightly confusing and strange tale — but then Harry broke his heart for the second time that day by drawing his hand away from Louis’. The loss of Harry’s grounding warmth against his fingers felt sudden and unbelievably cruel, and Louis couldn’t help reacting like the desperate drama queen he’d always known he was deep down, pouting and searching Harry’s face like a kicked puppy looking for attention.

Harry just gave him a bright smile before reaching into his robes again—just how much stuff did he have hidden in there?—and taking out a small jar full of cookies. A… jar. With cookies inside. A cookie jar.

Louis stared at the object intently for about ten seconds, hoping that staring hard enough at it would somehow reveal what the _hell_ the whole deal was about — but Harry’s thoughts and intentions remained frustratingly opaque. Louis just didn’t get it.

Zayn seemed to share his puzzlement, judging by the (once again) very eloquent “Huh?” he mumbled intelligently after a while.

Harry looked between the two of them like he couldn’t believe they were being _this_ thick. To be quite fair, Louis wished he had a fucking clue what was happening, so Harry’s incredulous expression felt pretty relatable right now.

“You see, boys, I brought this for the _whooole_ of Slytherin House!” Harry explained. He sounded (very adorably so) like a kid about to open their presents on Christmas Eve, and Louis shifted his gaze to stare at the side of his face as it took on a heartbreakingly angelic look of pure, innocent joy. “I figured I should make a little something for all the students at Hogwarts since, y’know, I’m new — so I decided to bake cookies at home before school started.”

Louis was too busy sighing wistfully and trying to hold himself together to care all that much when he felt his eyes prickle at Harry’s words. Beautiful. Harry was beautiful.

“My friend Liam was able to sneak a jar into the Gryffindor common room for me, and of course it was easy to get the Hufflepuff part done as well — with Nialler’s help, I might add. Ravenclaw was a bit tricker ‘cause I don’t really have any Ravenclaw friends yet, but this really cool girl called Lottie—Charlotte, I think—was kind enough to help me out with that.”

Louis and Zayn’s heads snapped at that, turning to each other in one swift movement worthy of The Office. Holy shit, talk about coincidences! They both opened their mouths to start saying that Lottie actually was Louis’ little sister, but Harry didn’t notice anything and went on cheerily without ever pausing for breath:

“So that left me with Slytherin. The tricky House, am I right?” Harry winked down at Louis playfully while his right arm curled around the smaller boy’s waist over his robes, and Louis instantly forgot what he was about to say and only barely managed to give a ridiculous chuckle in response. “I figured early on that it would be harder for me to get in there somehow. So I thought— yeah, why not just _sneak_ into the common room while everyone conveniently happens to be out for, let’s say, a Quidditch match? That way I’d manage to get the deed done without attracting too much attention to myself.”

That was— shit, okay.

An astounded silence settled over the room for a few seconds, until Zayn eventually exclaimed in an appraising voice close to a whistle:

“Wow, man! Now _that_ ’s what I call dedication!”  

Louis agreed wholeheartedly — but he couldn’t leave it at that, no.

“Harry, you wanna know what?” he said, his voice unmistakably eager and shaking with barely contained intensity. Shit. There was no room for hesitation now. “That’s the best fucking thing I’ve heard in my whole life. Seriously. No wonder even the Slytherin dungeons opened themselves up for you.”

Louis wanted to say much, much more. He wanted to assure Harry that he’d no doubt make many more friends in no time; he wanted to ask exactly how long it’d taken him to bake the cookies and where he’d found the recipe for them; he wanted to express just how touching Harry was, giving kindness so freely without any agenda.

Unfortunately, Louis didn’t have the proper words to put on his feelings, nor would he’ve had the guts to voice them at all even if he’d known how. But perhaps, perhaps he could—

He leaned over slowly and brushed his lips against Harry’s soft cheek, giving a peck on the baby skin there and letting his mouth linger and drink in the comforting warmth the boy radiated. His nose full of Harry’s smell and his lips full of Harry’s taste, Louis felt something break inside his heart and knew:

There was no going back from this.

The spell was broken when Harry started wiggling a bit in Louis’ grasp, squeaking a high-pitched “Louiiiiis!” in-between delighted giggles. Ticklish, were we? Hmm, interesting.

Harry’s free arm still securing Louis tightly against the cookie jar between them made it obvious that he was enjoying himself quite a bit despite his protestations — and so Louis felt a surge of courage swell inside his breast and actually _nuzzled_ Harry’s cheek like a little bunny, feeling his heart constrict impossibly further when Harry wheezed in laughter and pressed Louis so tightly against him that the cookie jar stabbed them both in the guts.

If Louis died stabbed in a sandwich of love today, it would be the happiest fucking death recorded in history.

“Louis! For fuck’s sake, _Louis_!”

Oh god. Zayn still hadn’t left, had he? He was whispering urgently and it sounded kind of important, but Louis couldn’t find in himself the will to extricate his nose from Harry’s messy curls which had fallen over his face a bit. So he settled for a compromise and mumbled a muffled “What, Zaynie?” against Harry’s skin, thinking bitterly that he should be congratulated on his superhuman effort for even deigning to acknowledge Zayn right now.

“I can hear people walking down the stairs to the dungeons, they must already be coming back from the game!” Zayn sounded slightly hysterical, like he was about to pop a vein or something.

Louis honestly couldn’t relate. Like, not at all. He groaned pathetically—“Ugh, are you fucking serious?”—when Harry sighed and shuddered weakly in his arms. Well, _fuck_ this and _fuck_ the fucking Quidditch game for not lasting three fucking days straight. _God_.

“Nooooo!” Harry moaned in a profoundly disgusted tone which Louis was too keyed up to appreciate. The palm of his large hands pressed against the small of Louis’ back, drawing him impossibly closer. “Lou, can’t you keep me in your arms forever while Zén locks the entrance with a very powerful, very unbreakable spell? I reckon the three of us could survive on cookies for, like… a week, maybe?”

Louis burst out laughing and squeezed Harry’s love handles playfully, satisfied when he was rewarded with a startled yelp and a particularly sharp jab from the cookie jar. Man, Harry could smash that jar over his head and Louis would probably thank him for it.

“Hey! Stop it, it tickles!”

“No.”

“Louiiiis!”

“If you want me to stop, you’ll have to make m—”  

“Alright, alright, now _SHUT UP_!” Oh. Zayn was really done with them not taking things seriously, was he? “Now listen to me, guys. You do know it’s strictly forbidden for a student to be found in a common room other than theirs, right? People have gotten in a lot of trouble for this before.”

The sensible voice in Louis’ head tutted in understanding and informed him helpfully that he should probably listen to his friend, who’d made it his job to keep Louis out of trouble and be the Responsible Best Friend ever since the beginnings of their friendship in first year. But let’s be real: what chance did the voice of reason have against Harry’s happy squeals warming Louis from head to toe?

Louis didn’t have time to ponder over his own rhetorical question, though, before he was yanked away from Harry unceremoniously by two strong hands grabbing his shoulders. He was suddenly hit by a wave of cool air laced with the familiar leathery scent of the Slytherin common room, and the loss of Harry-ness all around him was so jarring he had to bite back a shocked sob.

“Hey!” Louis whined, with a sour pout he knew (and _hoped_ ) would achieve absolutely nothing except annoy Zayn further. Sure enough, Zayn merely stared at him with the unimpressed and painfully resigned look of someone who’s been forced to babysit an insufferable child all too many times.

Well, the child in question had just had his new favourite teddy bear taken away from him and was now in a bad mood — so he was gonna push it a tad more, just for the hell of it.

“Zaaaaayn, why’d you have to come back early from Quidditch? You suck dick, man.”

The reactions Louis got were so goddamn worth it. Zayn rolled his eyes hard enough for them to get stuck at the back of his skull, and Harry (sweet, sweet Harry) stifled a chuckle behind his hand, like Louis was so unbelievably funny he just couldn’t help himself.

“Honestly, who _cares_ , Louis?” Zayn whisper-yelled in an over-exasperated tone. “Just wanted to hear you play a bit before everyone came back, that’s all! But that’s not gonna happen now anyway, seeing how I have to take care of you two idiots before you get caught.” He gestured wildly between the two boys who were both still grinning like—yeah—idiots. “Now _go_ and get Harry out of here through the secret exit, good gracious!”

At that, Louis bit his lip and quickly turned the situation over in his head. Yep. He hated to admit it, but Zayn might possibly, maybe, likely be right. Shit, Louis needed to act fast.

He lunged forward and grabbed Harry’s wrist (purely for practical purposes, of course), pointedly ignoring the little summersault his insides made when he took in how dishevelled Harry looked, all wide eyes and flaring nostrils and flushed cheeks.

“Ready, Hazza?”

“Always.”

Without having to give each other any instructions, they both trotted towards the black antique table in the middle of the room to deposit the cookie jar hurriedly, Louis making sure to rub Harry’s wrist with the pad of his thumb to convey just how proud he was of him. _Goal accomplished, baby_. Then Louis guided Harry towards a narrow, shadowed corridor which ran from one corner of the common room as a vein from a heart; and he halted long enough to look back and see Zayn perform a non-verbal spell on the armour. Bless him: the lad had remembered to reassemble the armour that had had the immense privilege of getting decapitated by Harry.

(— Harry who, to top off this incredibly incredible morning, had paused to lean heavily on Louis’ arm and snuggle up against the top of his head.)   

Alright, alright. Maybe Louis could stamp on his shitty teenager temperament for a second and let Zayn know that he didn’t _actually_ suck. Poor bloke deserved it, even though his ungrateful best friend was sometimes reluctant to admit it when he was in one of his moods.

At first, Louis found himself struggling to open his mouth — but when Harry pressed a sloppy butterfly kiss to his hair and breathed hotly against it as though in gentle encouragement, the kind, slightly apologetic words trapped in Louis’ throat came out with disarming easiness.  

“Thanks, Zee! Love you.”

Zayn didn’t turn to him, but his mouth twisted in a half-exasperated, half-fond smirk.

“Good luck, lads!” he chirped cheerfully, an obvious edge of warning in his voice.

Right! Louis could suddenly hear the chatter of students coming just around the corner, muttering angrily about “those damn Hufflepuffs” and “Nick Dumbass Grimshaw, always such an unfair referee.” They needed to get out _now_.

“C’mon,” he whispered, dragging a laughing Harry with him down the secret passage.

* * *

When Louis came back to the now overcrowded common room and slumped down into a worn black leather sofa next to his best friend, he stubbornly ignored the gleeful light in Zayn’s eyes and the knowing—fucking _irritating_ —grin he flashed him. Louis was well aware Zayn would end up coaxing everything out of him sooner or later, as he unfailingly had ever since they’d become friends; in the meantime, though, Louis would certainly _not_ let his reputation as an “obstinate fucker” (Zayn’s own words) take a blow, even under such extenuating circumstances. He wasn’t going to say a single word.

The two of them sat in silence for quite a bit — Zayn smiling to himself like the was having the time of his life, and Louis pretending he didn’t notice but secretly enjoying the reassuring, grounding warmth of Zayn’s gaze on him. As always, dude knew when not to pressure Louis with questions and gave him the space he needed to cool off and process his emotions. Fuck, what a bloke.

Zayn even had the decency not to laugh when Louis absently touched his index finger to his own lips, feeling his mouth bloom into a dreamy and probably very dumb-looking smile he was powerless to repress. Harry’s last words to him—whispered breathily in his ear on their way out, as Harry brushed Louis’ upper lip just so with his thumb—played again and again in his head, heady and insistent and maddening. It was all he could hear. It was all his world was made of.

“Hey, Tommo,” a soft voice called from up close, rising above the commotion in the room. Louis blinked a few times, a bit startled, and turned to find Zayn looking at him with a gentle and slightly amused look on his face, a cookie held up in front of him like an offering. Oh.

“Your boy performed a pretty good charm on that jar, man. Managed to expand it to make a hundred cookies fit in there or something.” Zayn sounded fairly impressed, which was quite a feat coming from him.

For his part, Louis was... sort of dying, really. He was imagining Harry sticking out his tongue in concentration as he skillfully managed to execute an advanced Extension Charm, and a weird aching sensation curled like a snake inside his belly. _Your boy, your boy, your boy._

“Um— thanks, man,” he mumbled gratefully, reaching for the cookie with a small smile. God, did he look and sound as fucking overwhelmed as he felt? Probably.

“You’re welcome. Now quick, eat the first one before anyone else beats you to it! Chop chop!”

Zayn was right, of course. Harry had made the cookies with his two hands and his big heart, and Louis would honestly rather be run over by one of Hagrid’s Hippogriffs than let anyone else be the first to get a taste.

When he took his first bite and felt the sweet, buttery dough melt on his tongue and the chocolate chips give way under his teeth, Louis heard a strangled humming sound escape his throat, but he was too far-gone to care. It was as though he could _taste_ all the dedication, all the kindness, all the love Harry had poured into baking something nice for all those people, many of which he’d never even met — and quite frankly, Louis couldn’t get enough of it.

When his bite was finished (Louis could’ve sworn a choir of angels was chanting _hallelujah_ in every cell of his brain in jubilation), he stared into the distance some more and made a decision.      

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Harry was waiting for him, and Louis would be damned if he didn’t run after him faster than he’d ever run in his life — faster than his shitass lungs usually permitted, even.

“Zay-zay.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t wait up for me.”

It was with Zayn’s cheers and over-enthusiastic “Go get it, man!” resounding in his ears that Louis bounced up and sprinted out of the common room like his life depended on it — which it _did_ , thank you very much. He bumped into a confused Slytherin or two in his eagerness, his body buzzing with anticipation as he frantically wracked his mind to remember how to get to the Hufflepuff quarters.

The kitchens, he had to find the kitchens. How fucking appropriate was that?

Louis was ready: fingers securely holding his cookie; lips aching to pepper plush lips and warm almond skin with thousands of kisses; heart and soul for Harry to keep close, very close, as long as he wanted them.

He was gonna go get his boy.


End file.
